Sometimes Things Get A Little Strange
by nothing-rhymes-with-ianto
Summary: Owen comes back to life after being shot as in canon, but as a zombie well, he was sort of a zombie anyway, but he has an actual craving for brains. What will the team do? Can he be cured? Full title: Sometimes Things Get A Little Strange, But We Survive.


_Written for the amnesty period of zombi_fic_ation._

* * *

"Owen? Owen?"

Warning bells and flatlines screeched across the comms. The team could hear shuffling, grunting noises, strange high-pitched scrabbling like skin on skin.

Ianto toggled his comm. "Owen, talk to us. What's going on?"

Owen sounded panicked, his voice shaking. The strange noises were louder, interspersed with his words. "Guys. Get in here. Help me."

Jack began to run toward the house, Martha hot on his heels. "Owen, what's going on?"

"I don't know! I just—I can't stop myself! Help!"

It was dark inside the mansion. There were no guards still conscious to stop them, so Jack and Martha raced up the stairs, calling Owen's name. A strange groaning sound was the only reply, drifting to them from the end of the hall.

Owen was collapsed on top of Henry's still form, hands gripping the corpse's head with a force that would have made his fingers red had he had circulating blood. His mouth was on the man's forehead. He looked up when Jack and Martha burst in.

"Please get me off him! Just get me away!"

Hands hooked under arms, gripping shoulders, and they dragged him off and down the stairs. Jack cuffed Owen's arms behind his back. The medic was shaking, taking in unnecessary breaths and blinking rapidly as if he'd be crying if his bodily functions worked.

"Jack? What's going on?" Gwen asked, just as Tosh cried out, "Jack! The device is about to explode! It's going off the screen!"

"I'll take care of it, Tosh. Martha, take him back to the Hub. Figure out what the hell is going on."

"Okay. Come on, Owen." Owen nodded weakly and followed her.

The scans and tests were done, and Owen sat dejectedly on the sofa, waiting for Martha to get the results. He watched Ianto make his rounds with the coffee, trying to keep his mind off of what had happened at Henry's house. However, he inevitably went back to it, replaying over and over again in his mind the strange blank space after Henry's death and the coming to awareness with his teeth and hands gnawing and scratching at the old man's head, the _need_ in the pit of his stomach, the fear.

It terrified him. Why had he suddenly felt that way? Why wasn't he feeling it now? Wasn't he one hundred percent human? Martha had confirmed that, hadn't she? What if he suddenly tried to eat one of his teammates? What if he killed someone someday? What if whatever this was, was contagious? What was happening to him?

"Owen?" Martha stood in front of him, papers in her hand. "The results are back."

"Tell me."

"It looks like there's a part of your brain that has been reprogrammed somehow. It seems to have linked hunger and death. You're going to crave brains when you're hungry, or at least when your brain decides that you should be hungry."

"Does that mean I can't do my job?"

"I don't know. I think you'll still be able to do your job. You'll just have to keep things in check. Learn how to control it." She smiled at him hopefully.

Owen scoffed. "Keep an Alert-It button around my neck so Jack can keep me from eating the corpses I'm supposed to be autopsying?"

"We'll figure it out, Owen. I promise."

Owen didn't respond; he went back to staring at the screen of Gwen's computer. Martha went back to the medical bay. The sound of the fountain filled Owen's ears. He felt far too alone in all this. The only dead one, not even dead. Dead-alive. The only one who was experiencing these horrible things, and everyone was running away from him, hating him, treating him like an experiment, or regretting admissions. It hurt.

"So, you're a zombie." Ianto was standing in front of him. He gestured with his hand for Owen to budge over and sat down. "A real life, brain-eating zombie."

"I guess so."

"Live brains or dead brains?" Amusement danced in Ianto's eyes, but his tone was serious.

"Haven't figured that one out yet."

"Guess we'll just have to experiment. That's fine. I'll put brains on the shopping list for the next time I re-stock the kitchen. I know a butcher shop that won't ask questions. I don't know what might happen if you only want human brains, or living brains, but I suppose I can figure something out. It's my job."

And Owen knew that Ianto wasn't kidding. If he needed brains, if he needed help to combat these weird new cravings, Ianto would help without questioning him, without belittling him, without insulting him. It was nice to have that reassurance.

"Thanks, Ianto."

"Like I said, it's my job."

"Still. Thanks."

Five days later, Martha had left and Owen was doing an autopsy on some bizarre snake-like alien that fell through the Rift already dead when he got those weird cravings again. With a groan, he backed himself up to the far wall, hugging up to the concrete to try to keep from having a go at the corpse on his table. In seconds, Ianto appeared with a plate.

"Ianto? What are you doing? Don't come near me!"

Ianto sighed, bored and long-suffering. "I'm trying to help you. Calm down. This is for you." And he placed a plate full of pieces of _brains_ on the table beside Owen.

"You really did that? Thanks." And then the cravings became far too strong and he dug into the brains with force, shoving them in his mouth with his hands. Ianto didn't even blink, just stood there with his hands folded, bland placid butler expression in place, and waited until Owen had cleaned the plate. Then he picked it back up again, and with a small smile and nod, left the autopsy bay.

Owen wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and wondered just when things like having a real zombie for a teammate had become commonplace in Torchwood.


End file.
